


The Sable Lady

by ExperimentalMadness



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: AU season 3, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance, Slight non-con implications if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExperimentalMadness/pseuds/ExperimentalMadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guy is spared execution at Prince John's command and is instead, much to his surprise, given a second chance to prove his loyalty. In order to repay the debts owed to the Prince, Guy finds himself married to a well-connected heiress. Now saddled with a wife he hardly cares for, Guy makes his way back to Nottingham to make one last bid for power against the Sheriff. Meanwhile rumors abound, the King is finally returning to England and Robin Hood has just received word that an infamous spy and assassin is heading to Nottingham to aid him and his outlaws at the behest of the king himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sable Lady

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, okay! So this is the first Robin Hood fic I've written in YEARS. I freely admit to feeling very rusty and nervous about sharing it. I've been away from this fandom and these characters for so long I wonder if I've still got it. This story is based on the gap in events that occur in Guy's storyline between episodes 3x02 and 3x05. From there it goes a little off-canon. This story is fully outlined and drafted, however I tend to be the kind of writer that posts chapters as I finish them. I will always try and update in a timely fashion! 
> 
> Enough of me now. Please enjoy! :)

 I  


Messages  


There was a full moon out, yet one would never know it due to the dense fog chilling the midnight air. A lone figure paced a short length of the wall-gate overlooking the inner courtyard of the Tower of London. Steam curled around the hooded person's face as they sighed and tugged upwards at their heavy cloak. From below they could see another figure racing towards the gatehouse stairs.

Stupid little fool!

The messenger was panting like an overworked oxen. It was a wonder the watch didn't come crashing down around their ears. The hooded person could hear the heavy step of the messengers boots.

“I do not like to be kept waiting,” The hooded person had a voice that wasn't quite right. It was muffled and choked.

The messenger stopped and bent forward, hands on his knees as he fought for breath. “You try breaking into a castle utterly surrounded, then.”

“I've done it.”

Something about the hooded figure's tone caused the messenger to shudder. A gloved hand emerged from underneath the cloak. “Give it here,” they said, curling their fingers.

The messenger pulled a letter out from his satchel and handed it over watching as each of the hooded figure's fingers curled around the parchment. They disappeared it inside the cloak. “What? Ain't you gonna read it?”

“Yes, I rather imagine I'll read my letters in the pitch black of night. I suspect I'll be able to make out every other word at least. Here,” there was a flash of gold just barely visible between the moonlight, but the messenger was keen on it. “For your trouble. There would have been double that if you had come on time. Let that be a lesson to you. Now be off. The watch will make its rounds back this way. We must be out of sight before then.”

The messenger muttered thanks and took off like a shot. The hooded person merely shook their head after him. No amount of subtlety whatsoever. It wasn't that long ago they had been trailing odd messages at all hours. But no one had ever heard them coming. And they had never been late.

There was a distinct sound of metal on stone coming nearer. The watch was back. Wrapping up tightly in the thick black cloak, the hooded person made their way back down the gatehouse stairs. On the courtyard below it would be much harder for the watch to see their retreating form thanks to the fog obscuring most light. Forgoing the pathway, they cut across along the grass to his chambers in the White Tower. A torch lit the entrance, and under cover of the archway he stopped and pulled forth the letter.

It was sealed with the King's own mark. It popped free without much effort and the figure hastily took in the short missive.

_Needed in Nottingham. Seek out Robin of Locksley. He expects you. Eyes in Nottingham Castle. Arrive by any means necessary._

The figure held the letter to the torch, watching it blacken and crisp into ash. They blew the dust from their gloves and felt their lips curl into an involuntary smile. Nottingham? There were quite the flurry of rumors going about concerning that town. And Robin Hood himself as the contact? It would take some doing to maneuver out of court. But luckily, they tapped a finger to their lips as they made their way up the flight of stairs to their chambers, they knew someone who may prove just the right amount of leverage for a jaunt to Nottinghamshire.

***

 

Guy of Gisborne couldn't sleep. Little wonder too, he hardly ever slept nowadays. There was a thin amount of light streaming in through the bars of his cell. It must be dawn. Or evening. He lost track of the days. It couldn't have been that long ago that the Prince had ordered his arrest. Or maybe it had been weeks? A month? He didn't know and he didn't care. Although, if he was going to be executed he hoped the Prince would carry the order out sooner rather than later. It was the waiting that was the most torturous.

He lay staring up at the cracked stone ceiling. He willed himself to feel something, anything really, but there was nothing more to be had from him. He had raged the first few days he had been brought before the Prince, although that was more from the Sheriff's sudden betrayal than any anger at ultimately being thrown in prison. He'd kill that man if given half the chance, but that was unlikely. He had nothing to bargain with and his own life was not worth much. Prince John and other knights and lordlings to do his bidding. He did not need the fealty of a washed up traitor. It wasn't so bad. The knowledge that he was soon to be dead was almost comforting.

The image of Marian came into his mind's eye unbidden and he passed a hand over his face to try and shut it out. She was laughing and he knew he deserved this. All of it. He knew death wouldn't bring about an end to any of his torment, but how much worse could Hell be when compared to this?

Her very image seemed to burn his eyes and he hissed in real pain. No, that was merely the door to his cell being opened. Guy rolled over and found himself looking at two young guardsmen. “His Grace has summoned you,” one of them said.

“What?” Guy croaked. His voice had a bite and a rasp to it. Maybe he had been kept in here for much longer than he had previously assumed. “Why?” To kill him. He knew it. It must be. He was going to his execution at last.

“Don't know about that. Take him. His Grace will not want to be kept waiting.”

Guy let himself be dragged from his cell. Light came in through the windows in the hall and he realized it was closer to midday than early morning or evening. Delirious and half starved, Guy could barely stumble to his feet. The guards supporting him didn't much care if he chose to walk or let himself be dragged along.

Where was he even? Somewhere in the Tower, but his eyes wouldn't focus right he had been kept in half-light for far too long. The brightness of the day was making his eyes water so he kept his focus on the floor. He blinked when he saw the pattern of a green bilaut emerging from further down the hall.

“So, this is the prisoner I've heard so much about?”

Guy raised his head by inches. A double wrapped belt hung from around the woman's waist. Her bilaut's sleeves were long, nearly reaching the knees of her gown. She wore a shawl about her shoulders, hiding the rounded neckline of her dress.

The guards dipped their heads respectfully. “My lady, begging your pardon. You shouldn't concern yourself with this business.”

“Nonsense.” She had a smile that could crumble the hardest stone. It certainly worked on the two men. “You are taking him to see the Prince are you not? Certainly not in such a state.”

“Well...my lady...our orders are...”

“See that this man is cleaned up and given proper attire before his audience.”

“But, His Highness is expecting...”

“Oh Thomas, do stop fretting. I will see to the Prince myself.”

“Do you think I need your pity, woman?” Guy growled. His eyes burned as he locked them with the woman's soft gaze. One of the guards yanked him by the arm.

“You will show the lady proper respect.”

“None of that now, please,” the lady replied. Her voice was gentle. Guy could even hear the undertone of a French accent, although she hid it very well. “I'm sorry, Sir,” she said to him. “Prince John's court is not an easy one to navigate. I was thrown to the veritable dogs when I first arrived. And I dare say I made my way here in better circumstances than your own. It is dreadful to be alone in this nest of vipers. Do take care. Thomas, Jory, you will do as I have suggested yes?”

“Of course, my lady,” Thomas answered.

“Good lads. Go on now. I had best make my way to the Prince lest he wonder if I've disappeared myself!” She laughed and bid them a final good morning before making her way down the hall.

“Who was that?” Guy muttered not truly expecting a proper response. The woman's presence had been so sudden he half doubted his own senses. And her request? Why should she care what should happen to a prisoner like himself?

“That,” the guard who had been named Jory responded, “was the Lady Sabine de la Rochelle. One of his Grace's confidants. You did her wrong to insult her the way you did. She could have this court dancing to any tune she wishes, but she's a better woman than that.”

Guy couldn't help the bitter laugh that emerged. “You in love?” There was a harsh bite to his words. He was punched in the back of his head for his insubordination.

“The lady's kind is all. She takes an interest where most never bother. You should be thanking her.”

“Yes, remind me to thank the lady for cleaning me up before you cut off my head.”

“No one's said anything 'bout any execution. Least ways not to us. You're to go before the Prince. That's alls been said.”

Guy didn't know if he should be elated or disappointed. So he wasn't going to die today. It didn't matter. He was hellbound one way or another.

***

 

“What d'you expect will happen with Locksley now? I mean, now that Gisborne's gone an' all.”

Allan a'Dale sat sharpening a knife on a whetstone. He ran a finger down the blade and twirled it casually. Everyone at the camp had been on edge as of late. It was enough to drive any sane man out of his wits. Allan contented himself with checking up on the weapons. He had been fletching arrows, sharpening knives, and stringing bows for the better half of the day. Normally someone should have taken a crack at him by now, but not even Much seemed given to joking about how preternaturally productive Allan had been.

No one answered his question. Little John merely shrugged. Tuck and Robin exchanged glances. Much was too preoccupied by the stew brewing in the pot to pay him any notice.

“Couldn't we stake it out for ourselves in the meanwhile?” he said.

“Don't be stupid,” Little John barked. “The Sheriff would come down around us in a second.”

“I was only suggesting,” Allan grumbled, fitting the knife back into its sheath and setting it aside.

“The Sheriff will set one of his cronies up in Locksely soon enough. It's just a matter of when,” Robin finally said.

“An' that doesn't worry you?”

“Of course it does. Better the devil you know, right?” Robin crossed his arms.

Allan looked over at the pile of weaponry. “Just feel like we're all standing about here waiting for something to happen. It's like we can all see the storm coming. Can't we do something?”

Robin was about to reply when Tuck spoke up first. “Does anyone hear that?”

There were hooves in the distance, but unmistakably heading in the direction of the camp.

“Sounds like a single rider,” Robin moved towards the entrance of the camp. “Well, Allan, I think found something for us to do in the meanwhile.” He winked. “Lads, get to work.”

“Words I've been waiting' to hear all day.” Allan grabbed his newly sharpened knife and sprung the trap to open the camp's hidden entrance.

The moved out into the small canyon. The rider was definitely coming closer. It was somewhere over the ridge. Whoever it was was riding hard. Something important than. It was either going to be gold or information. No one rode at such a punishing pace unless it was for money or messages.

Allan and Tuck kept off the rode while Little John and Robin moved in to flank the rider as he came upon them. Allan peeked out from behind the trunk of a tree. Tuck was across from him, hands upon his staff. From here he could see the approaching rider. When he got close enough Little John stepped onto the road. The horse whinnied as the rider tugged up hard on the reigns. Braying with the indignant action, the horse tossed its mane, rearing its front legs off the ground.

The rider fell to the floor despite all his efforts of balance. “Keep back,” he scrambled for purchase, his boots kicking up dust as he heaved himself upright. “I warn you!” He unsheathed a small dirk from his belt.

“What's that then?” Robin called out from the trees. “A letter opener?” He emerged onto the road, bowstring taunt with an arrow notched and aimed dead at the former rider. “Put it away, lad, you'll have someone's eye out.”

“What do you want with me?” The man kept the dirk at the ready, although he wasn't certain who to threaten. He kept walking in tight circles, brandishing the weapon at Robin and John simultaneously.

“So you're new to Sherwood, then? Well, nevermind, the rules of my forest are very simple. I am Robin Hood. My companion here is called Little John, and my friends surrounding you are called Allan A'Dale and Brother Tuck. Fancy introducing yourselves, boys?”

Both Allan and Tuck slid out from behind the trees they had been stationed behind, waving nonchalantly.

“You're Robin Hood?” The man asked.

“You've heard of me, I take it?” Robin grinned.

The man instantly sheathed his dirk and rummaged about in the pouch he had slung at his side. “I was paid good money to find you. Might have introduced yourself first. Spared me the trouble.” the man said. “I was to deliver this message to you personally.”

“A message?” Robin lowered his bow. “From who?”

The man shrugged and handed Robin the parcel. “Not paid to ask questions. Done what's asked of me. Take it I have your permission to leave?”

“Yes,” Robin asked, distracted by the seal on the letter. “Safe travels, my friend.”

The messenger nodded his head and mounted his horse once more. Little John side-stepped out of the road to clear a path for the man. He was gone like a shot.

“Who'd be sending messages out to us, that's what I want to know?” Allan asked.

“King Richard,” Robin answered, face pale.

“Wha--? You're joking, you are.”

Robin pointed to the seal. “That's the king's seal. I'd know it anywhere. This is a message from the king himself.”

Robin cracked open the seal and shook out the letter. It was brief, but the brevity of the letter's contents made it all the more serious for the outlaw. He read it aloud to his gang.

“May this letter find you well and in good spirits, Robin of Locksley. By the time you have received this I will have already begun the long journey home. I mean to make for Nottingham and cleanse the city of its traitors. You must be ready for my coming. To that end I have sent to you my most trusted of allies. They will be as my eyes and ears in Nottingham and you shall defer to them as you would to me. If all has gone well the one you know as the Sable will come to Nottingham anon. God preserve you, and your men, Robin.”

“The King?” Allan croaked. “He's...he's coming back? Here?”

Robin folded the letter. “We burn this when we get back to the camp.”

“Robin,” Tuck asked, drawing the man aside. “What did the king mean by sending us one of his allies? And what in Heaven's name is a Sable?”

“I've heard that name spoken once or twice,” Much and Robin exchanged nervous looks. “Back in Acre. Always thought they were a legend of some kind, never once thought they were real. Got the name from the piece of sable coat that was found after some duke was killed. The name is always different depending on who's telling the story. Some say he was from Orleans, others from Burgundy. No one is sure. Anyway, anytime there's a suspicious murder it's said it's the Sable who's done it. We used to joke that any soldier who wasn't at their post in time was taken by the Sable. Lord have mercy, what are we going to do with a man like that in Nottingham?”

“Whatever the King wants us to do, Much,” Robin's face was grim. “No point in worrying now. He's bound for Nottingham to offer us help and we're in no fit position to refuse it, nor can we. The King commands us. Best make preparations for our visitor and pray this Sable is every bit as legendary as the stories say.


End file.
